Oren Swiftpaw
by The Macburls
Summary: This is a good story to read if you're in the mood for a story written in a style similar to that of the real Redwall saga. Please Read and Review!
1. Chapter 1

Mossflower was recovering from one of its harshest winter seasons yet. Many trees stood, hunched, under heavy amounts of snow, resembling sentries shot in the night by a phantom foe. The birds, however scarce, heralded the morning for Tyson and Camron Macburl.

Tyson was a warrior; anybeats could tell at a glance. His claymore hung at his side, and it looked to be a part of him. His ragged clothing was a checkered green tunic, and on his head betwixt his ears was a round little cap. In his paws he always clutched the hilt of his claymore.

Camron was just as dangerous-looking as his ally. His fierce green eyes never ceased to examine his surroundings, and his used paws wore the scars of a fighter. His clothing matched his brother's, but for the fact his was red. He, too, wore a claymore, but he also tended to use the small bow he had slung across his back.

Camron and Tyson crept silently through the bare trees in the harsh winter air. They waited silently for the vermin horde to make camp for the night. They had been stalking Edeltrak and his band of misfits for the past fortnight, picking off the band one at a time. They had been dedicated to killing off this band since the evil scum had ransacked their home and almost killed them both. Now they had something else to strive for.

The ferret had killed a squirrel family and had captured the baby squirrel and locked him in a metal cage. Strangely both of the young squirrels had a longing to free the young squirrel and take him to Redwall to apprentice in the art of swordplay.

Finally right after sundown the vermin made camp. As usual the albino ferret took the only tent in the middle of the camp. And unfortunately for the Macburls he made them plant the squirrels cage right outside of his tentflap. Five sentries were stationed around the tent making it almost impossible for them to free the dibbun. But the fire that burned within the macburls for three generations still burnt in the hearts of the noble squirrels.

"What do we do noo, Tyson?" Camron asked, kneeling on a branch.

"We wait for those sentries to sleep, ye puddenhead."

As soon as they were sure the sentries were asleep they scampered down the rowan and into the middle of the camp. Silently they worked on the cage with a twisted metal spoon given to them by the old thief friend of their grandpas, Yoofus, until the lock sprang open with a satisfying click. Tyson knelt gently beside the baby and laid one hand on it to lift it up.

Just at that moment the young squirrel woke up and screamed with the force of a raging badger, waking up the sentries and Edeltrak the Albino. With lightning speed Tyson grabbed up the dibbun and raced for the nearest tree. Camron slew the nearest ferret with a thrust from his great claymore and followed suit. Unfortunately Edeltrak was hot on his heels. Just as Camron was about to jump into a towering oak Edeltrak threw a sentries spear at him. It pierced him through the footpaw as he slung himself upwards into the dark.

Camron gave a cry of pain but continued to climb the tree. Edeltrak sneered. "Come on, ikkle treejumper! Doesn't that footpaw hurt?"

A snort of derision filled the air. "Go an' eat mah dust, ye great ball of hot air."

Edeltrak's face contorted into a hideous snarl. "Get the…" His cry was curt short as a small assassin's knife flew from Tyson's paw. It hit him hard in his left paw, and he dropped his blade with a rather undignified yelp. Tyson's hard laugh added insult to injury. "Look at that, Camron! The stinkin' vermin is goin' through what our family did!"

Edeltrak's face froze with fear as Tyson jumped from an oak tree, landing directly before him. Camron landed next, but behind the albino vermin. The ferret gurgled in panic and seized the escape route to his left. "Ye lily-livered, yellow-bellied scum! Ye call yerself me men!" The ferret looked around for support and saw no one. He paled, if possible, even more when he realized his depleted forces had deserted or died. He tripped over a soldier's spear shaft and cried out as he landed directly on an upturned dagger.

Tyson and Camron leapt from tree to tree and landed on either side of the unconcious vermin. "Is 'e dead?" Asked Tyson hopefully.

"Bah the left, the scummy lad is alive," Camron replied, slight surprise on his worn features. He knelt down, turned the warlord over and pulled the dagger roughly from his stomach.

"Well," Tyson said, looking satisfied, "I say we head back tae yon Abbey. I'm famished as never afore!" He chuckled and slung the young squirrel over his shoulder like luggage. "We'll let Sister Jess tend to this laddie's wounds. Coom on, mate, what's keepin' ye?"

"Me stummick," groaned Camron in mock torment, and both mercenaries walked off into the growing dawn.

A/N: Ahoy, mates! Please pardon the first chapter. My partner and meself had some problems, and this was a sort of almost prologue. Thus the chapter name! Well, nxt chapter will be longer. May the winds blow gently at yer backs! Redwaaalll!


	2. The Disgrace of a Captain

A/N: This chapter contain's the "Ka-Chunk" phrase seen being used by a ferret or something in Loamhedge. I know it's been used, so don't comment on it. On a lighter note, thankee for reading and please continue to do so! Eulaliiaaa!

CHAPTER ONE

As Edeltrak regained his consciousness, he immediately felt the searing pain in his ribs. He cursed aloud and commenced to crawl towards his tent, where the bringer of life, water, waited for him. He muttered aloud to himself the whole way. "Deserted by me own messmates! If only I could've got my claws on that cursed laughing treejumper, I'd've ripped 'is liver out an' used it fer me tentflap!"

Slightly feverish, the albino ferret grasped the water bottle with his broken claws. With a gurgle of thanks he swallowed it greedily. Once the goblet was drained he stood, some of his old strength returning to his limbs. He flexed his paws, and then cast about with his red eyes, seeking his bone-handled scimitar.

"There ye are, me beauty," Edeltrak chuckled to himself, walking over to a dead vermin soldier. He drew the blade from the back of the corpse, not caring to wonder how it had found a home in his subordinate's flesh.

"Now ter find ol' Cloddak," Edeltrak murmured to himself feverishly. "His wunnerful lord Cloddak the Conqueror. Where was 'e when I was just fightin' for me life against two squirrels, eh? Where was he when me sword was stolen by one o' me own messmates? Where was he when…"

The crazed vermin continued in this vein for some time before stumbling into a tree. He slumped to the ground, staring at the tree with dignity. Then he uttered one word:

"Ka-chunk!"

A voice broke his slightly incoherent thoughts. "Brother? Is that truly ye?"

Edeltrak turned slowly around and grinned foolishly at his sister, Edeweiss. Edeweiss was not an albino like her brother, she was a brown ferret with piercing green eyes. Her purple cloak fell to her footpaws, giving her the impression of a floating ghost. In one paw she held a staff topped with a skull, and in the other she carried a haversack of herbs. She was a Seer to the mighty Cloddak the Conqueror.

The silence grew oppressive before Edeltrak seemed to awaken and said clearly, "Ka-chunk!"

Edeweiss sat before him, her green eyes furrowed in thought. "What has happened here, brother? I see nought but dead hordebeasts here. Who has the gall and the power to overthrow ye and your soldiers?"

Edeltrak poked the staff Edeweiss held in her paw with great interest. "Ka-chunk!"

Edeweiss resisted the urge to hit him. She stood and walked to two other vermin, a rather blocky rat and a lithe stoat. The stoat was clad in silk finery, and around his neck was wrapped a white scarf. His face carried an intelligence uncommon with his species.

The rat was clad in a simple brown tunic. His dulled eyes, nonetheless, shone with some life, which belied his position as an officer.

The stoat looked disdainfully at Edeltrak, who was trailing behind Edeweiss with a blissful grin. "What's wrong with captain…er…."

"Edeltrak," finished Edeweiss resignedly.

"He looks like he had too much ale," sniggered the rat officer. The stoat nodded in agreement.

"I'm not sure what happened," Edeweiss explained, shrugging expressively. "He's only saying one thing, though…"

As if to complete her statement, Edeltrak said, grinning oafishly, "Ka-chunk!"

The stoat looked at the wreckage surrounding them. "He obviously hasn't completed his mission very efficiently," he said, curling his lip. He pointed a claw at each thing in turn as he mention them. "Dead hordebeasts, a broken cage, supplies everywhere, and then…" he looked distastefully at the wound on Edeltrak's stomach—"A knife wound." He looked at Edeweiss, grinning fiendishly. "Lord Cloddak will not be happy with the results of his scouting mission."

Edeweiss said nothing. Rather, she knelt next to the cage and looked at a dead sentry. She pulled a small assassin knife from the weasel's neck. "This is a very old knife," she murmured. The stoat, whose name was Thoril, strode curiously over and knelt next to her. He snatched the blade and smirked at Edeweiss' dismayed expression. "I collect weaponry of such finery as this. Anyway, we should be returning to the Northlands."

Edeweiss agreed grudgingly. "Aye, let's go." She looked fiercely at her brother. "Come, Edeltrak. I will treat ye at camp."

With that, the unknown group set off north, towards the cold lands that define harsh living and vermin bands.

Cloddak the Conqueror was coming!

Oren, the young squirrel rescued by Tyson and Camron three seasons hence, had grown into his new life with the mercenaries that he idolized. While harsh, he found their company comforting and amusing. They taught him the arts of weaponry, and told him tales of Redwall and its creatures. Actually, Oren was told, they would have been Redwallers a few seasons earilier had they not found him and decided to train him in the wilderness. He was under the impression that the two squirrels were his uncles, and he never questioned it. They were squirrels, and so was he.

However, Oren was a bit of a slacker. Tyson and Camron had constant struggles keeping the young lad in line. They could only hope that one day he would find the meanings of discipline and deploy them.

Presently Oren held his bow up to eye level, focusing on the small makeshift target before him. With a grunt he fired.

_Thud!_

Tyson applauded. "Ach, well done, wee laddie! A bull's eye!"

Oren shuffled his footpaws. "It was nothing, nuncle."

Tyson snorted. "Nothing? T'was nothing? Not many grown beasties can hit a bull's eye, laddie buck!"

Camron waddled up to them. "I dunno, laddies, looks like trouble's brewin' over yon." The squirrel's paw gestured to the north. "Passin' beasties tell me of a phantom pine marten and his ghastly ikkle vermin horde. See more vermin here then ye do leaves on the trees."

Tyson smiled and tapped a paw to his nose sagely. "I think it's time we headed off to Redwall, eh, Camron? Ach, Ah ache to see the Father Abbot again."

Camron nodded, a smile breaking out on his features as Oren hopped up and down in excitement. "Aye, Tyson. Ah think it's time we went back."

Mossflower was clouded with coming darkness, but a lantern could be seen, bobbing towards Redwall, in the form of three squirrels.


	3. Of Feasts and Slavers

CHAPTER TWO

Redwall Abbey.

The name instilled comfort and warmth into everybeast who heard it. A great, colossal redstone structure, it towered above Mossflower, its wonderful architecture sending a message of protection to its surroundings. The sun bounced playfully off of the walls of the Abbey, creating an illusion of mahogany-shaded stone. The wonderful summer dawn marked the day of the Midsummer Feast Jubilee at Redwall.

Despite the early hour, Redwall was bustling with activity. Good-natured banter aplenty combined with eager anticipation doubled the speed of the working Redwallers.

"Ahoy, gimme an 'and wi' this keg o' wine, will ye, Father?" The voice belonged to Cellarhog Barwin, a rotund beast with white whiskers surrounding his face. The Father Abbot Nathanael gladly lent a paw, rolling the keg down the busy corridor with Barwin.

Father Nathanael was a hamster, an uncommon beast in Mossflower country. His fur, a brilliant gold, protected a chubby stomach and wrinkled paws. Small glasses were perched on the end of his snout, granting him a wise appearance befitting of his intelligence.

"This here is me finest October Ale, Father," grunted Barwin proudly. "Took me the better part of the autumn season to brew it, then I let 'er rest fer the spring. That's wot it takes to make a good ale, don't it, h'Abbot?"

A twinkle in his eye, Nathanael shoved Barwin playfully. "Gerroffit, Barwin! Ye know that ye took advantage of your position and tasted the good stuff all season. Shame on ye, I say!" Chuckling, Barwin righted himself and pointed to a small mob of Dibbuns (the name given to the babes of Redwall) that were begging the berry-picking party to spare some of their profits.

"Oops, looks like trouble o'er yonder, Father h'Abbot. Aye," he tapped a paw to his snout sagely, "those Dibbuns cause more trouble than a drunk sparrow on a winter morn, pardon me example, Father."

Shaking his head mirthfully, the kindly Abbot continued their dogged trek to the Great Hall with the keg of swishing wine. "Let the young 'ns have their fun. Don't ye remember your Dibbun days, Barwin?"

Barwin looked wistfully off to the ceiling. "Aye, that I do, Father. Especially when ye pushed me into the lake to fetch yer strawberry!"

The cheerful banter continued as the two friends meandered to their goal, remembering old times.

The Dibbuns were indeed causing trouble. Having formed a small army of 'furragers,' as they called them, they were either stealing food or begging for morsels from the creatures invloved in the food they fancied. A small mole was a self-appointed leader, his bass voice resembling the call of a foghorn.

"Yurr, move out on moi call," the mole ordered his anxious henchmen. "We steal ee vikkles offen ee foebeast's paws, ho urr."

"Yah, Soilsnout, but whaddo we do if'n they see us?" A small squirrel inquired.

"Hurr, then we run furr it, so we do." Soilsnout shook his head knowingly. "You'm be a gurt puddenheaded mouser!"

With that, the score of hungry babes spread out to all sides of the berry-picking party's area. Soilsnout waved his digging claws, and the Dibbuns charged with squeals of excitement towards the victuals.

Brother Camden, one of the berry-picking party's members, turned and gasped. "Great seasons! Hide the vittles, mates, put 'em outta the Dibbuns' reach!"

There was great commotion as the party struggled the baskets of berries from the paws of their foebeasts. Growling fiercely, Soilsnout looked up at a hare whom he was battling. "Burr, leggo of me vikkles, ee fiend!"

The hare, named Bomren, held Soilsnout up with one paw, shaking his grizzled head pityingly. "Rank and file bad form, sah, bad form, stealin' vittles from your elders. Fye on you, I say, eh wot!"

Brother Camden shoved the Dibbuns gently away. "Shoo, young'ns, or we won't 'ave time to prepare the feast!"

Grumbling rather resentfully, the Dibbuns retreated.

Altogether, Friar Minsum considered the cooking of the feast to be going quite well. A score of hardworking Redwallers hustled about the kitchen, chattering good-naturedly with one another and sharing advice on preparing victuals.

"Hoi, somebeast, come 'elp me put some nutmeg on this cheese!"

"Harr, matey, that soup won't be complete 'til ye add some hotroot, ho aye!"

"Somebeast, help! The bread is burning!"

"Oi got ee cuvverd, zurr!"

"Gerroutofit, ye young hooligan! That isn't fer swimming in!"

"Yah, go boil ya snout!"

Abruptly a frantic plea for help rang out. "Hoi, fire, mates!"

With the speed of a madbeast, Friar Minsum abandoned his great cake and dashed to assist the trembling young mouse that had called for help. Indeed, a blazing inferno was raging in the stove, and the smell of burning rubber was present. With the urgency of one in love with food, Minsum heaved a great bucket of water used to wash vegetables and dumped it unceremoniously over the flames. Without further ado, the fire died, leaving a small wisp of smoke in its memory.

Minsum panted heavily, withdrawing the burnt bread from the oven. He glared at the mouse, who trembled. "What did ye do this time, Bentup!"

Bentup stuttered. "I-I didn't do nothin', Friar! Young Yiggum did it!" A shaking paw indicated a shrewbabe swimming luxuriously in yet another bucket of water. The Dibbun grinned disarmingly at the glowering cook. "Dat was fun, wudnn't it, Friar?"

Laughter filled the room as Minsum pursued Yiggum around the kitchens, shouting dire threats. "I'll see to it ye get a bath early, ye ruffian! Aye, an' no dessert for ye! Bedtime right after the feast!"

In another part of Mossflower, Oren, Tyson and Camron were traversing the thickly wooded heart of the forest. Oren was tiring quickly, as he was used to a far less rigorous regimen. Tyson and Camron plodded on, the only sign of weariness being the rugged breath they drew. Oren didn't much like this part of Mossflower. The trees were so many that sunlight had no opportunity to penetrate the thick barrier formed by the pines and oaks. The air was hard to breathe, but most of all, there was a feeling of being watched.

Tyson gestured to the north with his claymore, breathing rather heavily. "Yonder seems tae be a likely place for us to lay our weary paws. Ah'm for some lunch afore we reach the fringe o' the wood, eh, Camron?"

Camron nodded. "Aye, me poor stummick's callin' for some braw comfort. How are ye fairin', mah bonny wee bairn?"

Oren looked ready to collapse where he stood. "I just want a break, n'uncle!"

Camron chuckled cheerfully. "Ach, I'd get used tae it, Oren. Ye'll have much more tae live through if'n ye plan to avenge yore family!"

Oren simply sat down at the designated camp. "Do you two feel like we're being watched, mates?"

Tyson's ears perked up. "Bein' watched, ye say? Must be vermin—they're not uncommon this neck o' the wood. Aye, I'd best go check it oot. Stay here, lads." Then he skillfully bound up a tree and disappeared.

Belril and Horgeon were ferrets and slavers to the core. They made a small fortune of victuals of of their enterprise, something they would kill for without a second thought. They showed no mercy to their victims, all of whom ended up in the claws of searats or other conquerors. Belril was a scrawny ferret with a bow and arrow that suited his lithe build, while Horgeon was a hulking, awkward beast with a large cutlass, notched for every kill he gained.

Horgeon held up his bag of food and turned it upside down, making a grimace as nothing fell out. "By the tooth and claw! We're outta vittles, mate!"

Belril scuttled forward, holding a paw to his mouth. "Hush, mate! I found some likely beasts around yon corner. If'n we sell this lot, we'll make a fortune, mark me words!"

Horgeon rose with a speed that belied his bulk. "Lead me to 'em and I'm yer beast, Belril!"

Without warning a squirrel dropped from an oak above them, clad in a green traveling tunic and wearing a cap at a jaunty angle. What drew the attention of the vermin was the claymore in the squirrel's tightly clenched paw.

Belril smiled disarmingly. "Ahoy, mate! Bootiful day, ain't it?" He pointed a claw at the squirrel's blade. "Wot do ye have a weapob fer, friend? We don't mean ye no 'arm, do we, Horgeon?" He nudged him hard.

Horgeon shook his head, a fiendish smile hovering about his fangs. "Cetainly not, Belril!"

The squirrel grinned. "Ah ken that ye were watchin' us all day, lassies!"

Belril kept the smile plastered on his lips. His paws discreetly lifted his bow behind his back. "Watchin' ye? I dun know what the bushtail's talkin' about, do ye, mate?"

Horgeon took a step forward. "Nary a clue wot he's talkin' about, Belril!"

Tyson played along, though his eyes shone with battle. "Aye, an' Ah bet ye two are just havin' a wee picnic oot here?"

Belril nodded. "Aye, a pikkernik, eh Horgeon?"

Horgeon nodded dumbly.

Tyson grew tired of the façade. The smile left his face and he lifted a cupped paw to his snout. "Hawaaay the Braaaawww!"

Immediately another squirrel plopped out of one of the trees. This one held a bow trained on Horgeon's large bulk. "Ah ken, Tyson! An' what are these two braw saucy beasties doin' out here?"

Tyson gave a grim smile. "Ach, enslavin' what they can find, mate!"

No longer were the ferrets smiling, either. Belril shook an arrow at the pair of warriors. "Nobeast'll be 'armed if'n ye drop yer weapons!"

Camron laughed drily. "Aye, an' then ye'll shoot the two of us and steal our bairn right oot from under our snouts. Nice try!"

Belril gurgled angrily and nocked an arrow to his bowstring. Seeing the indication to attack, Horgeon bellowed loudly and charged the two squirrels, brandishing his cutlass. "Kiiilllll!"

Without a single trace of effort, Tyson lifted his claymore and blocked the heavy slice from the big ferret. With one fluid movement, he drew his Sgian Dhu from a hidden spot in his cap and thrust into Horgeon's neck. The ferret dropped his blade and crumpled to the ground, his last sight being his partner shot with an arrow from Camron.

Tyson wiped his blade on the grass. "Och, we shouldnae mention this to the bairn. Do ye ken what this means, mate?"

Camron nodded grimly. "Aye, the vermin are spreadin'. But where are they comin' from, is what I'd like tae know."

Tyson and Camron set back off to their camp, not knowing just how dire Mossflower's situation was.


	4. Welcome to Redwall

CHAPTER THREE

Things were looking bleak for Edeltrak, Edeweiss and Thoril. Cloaddak the Conqueror stood before them, his sharp claws clicking expectantly on the wood of the deserted cabin he had deigned to be his temperorary lean-to. The pine marten was not pleased with his follower's progress.

Thoril chanced a glance at his chief from his kneeling position. "Sire, surely you don't believe that I am to blame for this oaf's failure?" He spluttered, pointing a trembling paw at Edeltrak.

Cloddak's fearsome amber eyes flickered down to look at him. When he spoke his voice was silky smooth, and dangerously soft. "Did I ask ye to speak, Captain?"

Thoril forced down a swallow. "A boon, sire!"

Cloddak roughly kicked the stoat with unexpected force. "A boon? Ye return after three days and all you bring is news of defeat by woodlanders and the loss of a score of good fighters? And ye ask of me a boon?"

Edeweiss suddenly threw down a pawful of powder, her voice mysterious as she spoke. "Ah, the spirits show me omens!"

Cloddak seemed to forget his anger and approached Edeweiss, anticipation in his eyes. Edeweiss smirked inwardly—like most warlords, Cloddak's weakness was superstition. She continued with the charade.

"Aye, I see…two woodlanders, bearing the symbols of death, a golden fang! And with them is a place of great riches, a great redstone building!"

Edeweiss knew that she spoke truth about the redstone building. Redwall Abbey. It was a cursed name amongst most vermin, infamous for repelling attackers. But the creative Seer knew that Cloddak was confident in his ability and that his attention would be drawn away from their punishments.

The Conqueror indicated the green smoke, his voice barely concealing his excitement. "Do ye see anything else, my Seer?"

Edeweiss looked up at the barbaric, armor-clad pine marten and decided to stop her gambling there. "Nay, sire. That is all I have been shown."

Cloddak took a seat heavily in his throne-like stone dais, gripping the arms of the furniture aggressively. "A great redstone building. Do ye mean Redwall Abbey?"

Edeweiss plastered a thoughtful look on her face. "Now that ye mention it, sire, the vision may have been pointing towards the Abbey. Indeed, it seems likely."

Cloddak was a canny beast. Restless now, he stood and began to pace the room, his paws folded behind his back and his purple cloak billowing out behind him. Thoril stood warily, nursing his aching side with loathing evident in his eyes as he watched his master. Cloddak seemed to remember their presence and waved a paw dismissively. "I need to think. You may go."

Thoril, Edeweiss and and ignorant Edeltrak took their leave. Thoril immediately gave vent to a loud curse.

"By the tooth and claw! I didn't do anything, and milord kicked me!" He glared sullenly at Edeweiss. "Thankee for distracting him, ferret."  
Edeweiss shrugged. There was no friendship lost between the two. "Ye are a worthy ally. Without ye, I would have nobeast to back me up."

Thoril's curiousity was piqued. "Back you up on what?"

Edeweiss knew the coming moment was crucial if she was to live to see another sunset. She lowered her voice to a whisper, glancing around to assure herself that there was nobeast eavesdropping on their party.

"Lord Cloddak is getting too dangerous. Methinks 'tis time to handle him once and for all, eh?"

Thoril looked surprised. "Ye, Cloddak's personal Seer, wish to dispose of him?" He pawed his rapier as he often did when he was nervous. "'Tis a dangerous gamble, ferret."

Edeweiss looked incredulously at him. "Dispose of him? Nay, 'twould be suicide to tackle him in such a manner." When Thoril registered no comprehension, Edeweiss continued her example, warming to the idea as she spoke. "Aye, attacking Cloddak the Conqueror while he's awake or asleep, either way, would be attempting the impossible, I wager. But if we were to take control of him, turn him into a weapon…"

Thoril looked rather excited. "He would be the perfect tool to conquer yon Abbey!"

"And much more." Edeweiss looked at Edeltrak, whom was staring off into empty space with an empty expression. "Methinks that my brother yonder would be a useful tool."

Thoril cocked his head. "But how am I guaranteed that ye will remain loyal to yore word?"

Edeweiss held out a paw, concealing her satisfaction. "Ye have my word, stoat. If ye don't take it, then I will find a more worthy assistant."

Almost suspicously, Thoril took a hold of her paw. "Fine. Ye have an ally, Edeweiss Seer!"

Unknown to the two conspirators, a scrawny hordebeast had been listening from behind some bushes. Sniggering maliciously, the spy took off for the cabin via a hidden path. He knocked politely on the side door with a grimy claw and stood waiting for Cloddak the Conqueror to open the portal. He had not long to wait—in seconds the sharpened claws of the pine marten swept out of the door and literally dragged the hapless rat into the cabin.

Cloddak led the rat to a small chair situated on the side of an polished oaken table, where a roast wood pidgeon and some damson wine awaited him. The rat eagerly dug in, consuming bird flesh messily and glugging down wine, sploshing it all over his tunic.

Cloddak sat opposite the rat in a more luxurious seat. He watched the spy for a time, and then grew tired of waiting for the dimwitted beast to begin the conversation. "Well, rat? What finds did you make today? And what's your name, anyway?"

The rat put down his goblet and the half-carcass of wood pigeon and replied, "Me name's Rottail, chief. An' 'twas hard work, getting' the informashyun wot I found."

Cloddak's amber eyes slitted impatiently. "Yes, yes, but what did you _find_?"

Rottail polished off his damson wine and held out his goblet cheekily for a refill. Cloddak hissed much like a cat would, consenting to the knowledge that the rat contained valuable information. Then he filled the rat's goblet and lay back, waiting for the rat to resume the session. After a time, Rottail obliged.

"Aye, so 'ere was I, sittin' be'ind the bushes like nobeast's business, like ye requestered, sire. An' then, wot did I 'ear but yore Seer conspirin' wi' the stoat!"

Cloddak was indeed slightly taken aback. "Edeweiss—my Seer—conspiring with Thoril, ye say?"

Rottail nodded sagely. "That she wos. Never did like tha' Thoril beast, canny one 'e wos."

Cloddak leaned forward. "And what did they say, Rottail?"

Rottail slowly picked the last meat off of his meal, and finished the wine before concluding his speech. "They wos plannin' a takeover!"

The Conqueror clenched the table, hard. Splinters shot out of the wood, embellishing themselves in the nearby furniture. "Ah, so it's insubordination, eh?" He pawed his ever-present trident and gestured at the door. "You may go, Rottail."

Rottail left indeed, shivering at the look on the pine marten's face. He would hate to be in the paws of whoever Cloddak the Conqueror was planning revenge on.

Oren picked up a small flower, inspecting its petals. It was pink and soft. He showed it to Camron. "Is this what we're lookin' for, n'uncle?"

Camron nodded, satisfied. "Aye, mah wee bairn. When yore uncle Tyson gets bech here, we'll be well on aur way tae Redwall Abbey!"

Oren squealed with delight. "Oh corks, Redwall Abbey!"

Tyson bounded down a tree, looking swiftly at the flower in Oren's paw. He grinned widely. "Ach, it's the auld Redwall Rose, mah friends!"

Oren squinted to the north. "Aw, but I can't see the towers and spires like you siad I'd be able to."

Tyson cast a jaundiced eye on the squirrel. "Ah'd watch mah mouth, laddie!"

With high spirits, the party exchanged banter as they walked steadily to the north. After a short time, the spires of Redwall Abbey came into view over the treetops. Oren performed a spirited jig of delight. "There it is! The famous Redwall Abbey!"

Tyson clapped a paw to his nephew's shoulder. "Aye, there's mah home, mate."

Camron was already dashing off towards the great building. "Last one there is a rotten egg, laddies!"

Skipper of Otters, Jaylon, called "Jay" for short, was standing on the ramparts, sipping in some harvest vegetable soup from the feast that was taking place. Jay was not one who enjoyed such hustle, so he had slipped out of Great Hall and taken up his own feast on the West Wall. Deeper'n'ever turnip'n'tater'n'beetroot pie and the Skipper's own personal favorite, hotroot soup. He dunked some of Friar Minsum's special mealbread (loaves of bread with the satisfaction of a meal) into some hotroot soup, allowing the fact that the bread didn't fill him as proof of his insatiable appetite.

He heard pawsteps and turned to look to see who was gracing him with their company. To the grizzled Jay's delight it was his pal, the Foremole Tunnelpaw. "Ahoy, Tunnelpaw matey, why'd ye leave the Great Hall?"

The homely mole chuckled in his bass voice and took a seat next to Jay. "Hurr, all o' that talkin' made oi dizzy. Oi noticed ee weren't thurr, so oi came up yurr to see ee."

Jay patted Tunnelpaw's back heartily. "Well, it's good to have ye, mate!"

They sat in content for a while, Jay sharing his food with his friend. As the sun began to set, Jay noticed some silhouettes on the horizon. He stood, his eyes warily regarding the approaching creatures. "Tunnelpaw, mate, look yonder!"

The mole rose and eyed the shadowy figures with interest, his eyes narrowing and the area his ears were located wiggling. After what felt like an eternity, he grinned so widely his face seemed to split in two. "Zurr, they baint anythin' dangerous! Et bees Tyson and Camron, hurr, an' they got company, they do!"  
Indeed, an accented voice rang out over the ramparts. "Ach, ye canny otter, open yon gates and let us through afore ah make ye!"  
Jay's face lit up—he had always enjoyed the company of the mercenary squirrels. "Belay, ye bushtailed fiend! Wot's that ye have with ye?"

Camron's heavy Northland accent shot back at him. "De ye mean aside from air poor ould stummicks?"

Tunnelpaw gave a mock scowl. "Hurr, answer ee question or oi'll keep ee out furrever, zurr Camron!"

Tyson's slightly less accented voice replied, "This is air new bairn, Oren! He was born on a midwinter naht midst thunder an' lahtnin'! Ah'd open the gates afore he eats ye alive!"

The gates swung open midst the laughter of allbeasts present, welcoming the heroes into Redwall Abbey.


End file.
